


The Case of the Rotten Strawberries

by summerstorm



Category: Pushing Daisies
Genre: Gen, failed attempts at things, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-21
Updated: 2009-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As a matter of fact, I know those strawberries. I'm acquainted with those strawberries. I personally saw them <em>dead</em> earlier, every single one, and threw them in the trash."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Rotten Strawberries

**Author's Note:**

> or the prompt "Ned/Olive, rotten fruit" at [**comment_fic**](http://community.livejournal.com/comment_fic/). Disregards anything after 2x10 because I haven't watched the new episodes yet.

It had been three hours, four minutes, and somewhere between fifteen and forty seconds, depending on the difference between Olive's watch then and Olive's watch now, since Olive had taken the box of rotten strawberries and carefully deposited it in the trash.

Said box of rotten strawberries was now standing tall and proud on the table, daring Olive to put off going to the ophthalmologist.

"What's that?" she asked Ned.

Ned turned like he'd been burned. "What's what?"

"That," she said, pointing to the strawberries.

Ned looked quickly towards them, then Olive's face, and back to the dough he was kneading. In a nervous tone, he said, "That's—that's strawberries."

"I _know_ that's strawberries," Olive stated, wondering if he really thought she was that stupid, or wondering if he would be able to cheat a lie detector. Clearly he was good at keeping things to himself, though you could always tell he was keeping things to himself. "As a matter of fact, I know those strawberries. I'm acquainted with those strawberries. I personally saw them dead earlier, every single one, and threw them in the trash."

And they had been. Rotten, that is. Olive had taken good precaution, the economy being what it was, to make sure that not a single good strawberry went to waste. She had put on a pair of gloves, picked them up, separated them, and saved a trio of lonely ones near the corner.

The corner in the box on the table was tellingly empty.

"Every box is the same, Olive," Ned said, not even trying. Or maybe that was trying for him. Olive kept wishing she'd figure him out.

"No they're not," she said, a finger lifted near her face, to make her look like she was investigating, which she was. "No they're not. They have numbers, and some are more worn than others, and this is the box I threw in the trash because it was worn enough to get rid of it." She nodded, mostly to herself. She was right. She was. "And those strawberries—I counted. There's Miss Piggy with the big breasts, and that roundy one there is Miss Tomato, and it was very sad to say goodbye to them, Ned, so don't tell me I'm having post-traumatic stress."

"Don't be ridiculous, Olive," Ned said with a blink, and Olive could tell he was grimacing, and only pretending to knead. There were lumps on the dough where the rolling pin had stayed on too long.

"I'm not," Olive said offhandedly, walking towards Ned. She leaned back against the table and eyed him suspiciously.

He shot her a look.

She looked back.

"I'm," he began, but didn't finish.

Olive tilted her head to the left.

Ned closed his eyes for a brief second, and inhaled.

Olive frowned.

"Okay," Ned said.

"Okay?" asked Olive. "Okay what?"

"Will you keep a secret?" asked Ned, and Olive felt like finally, finally, she could be part of his life—even if she didn't know all the things he was hiding, there would be a small piece of Ned for her, and her alone.

 

*

 

Of course, it turned out to be a small bottle of pink fluid that Ned refused to tell Olive the name of, and utterly forbad her from trying to use herself.

After confirming this with Emerson and Chuck, who were both quick to back Ned up, it wasn't until fifteen days, six hours and somewhere between forty and fifty minutes later—she really needed to replace her watch—that Olive Snook realized she had been had.

Her next step was asking Emerson. Again.

"That's not your job, Itty Bitty," Emerson said.

"I think it's my job to know what I'm feeding my customers," said Olive. It was a good point, she thought.

"No," Emerson said, "your job is to message the beautiful, beautiful pie from Ned's kitchen to Ned's customers." And then he looked towards the aforementioned kitchen and signaled with his thumb. "I think I asked for bourbon peach pie, why ain't you doing your job?"

Chuck was nice and quiet, and handed her a thick, encyclopaedia-type book on estranged twins.

"What does this mean?" Olive asked, holding the book sideways to figure out what an ultrasonic photo of siamese foetuses had to do with the case of the rotten strawberries.

"Fruit is alive," said Chuck with a sigh. "I'm just saying maybe the second box of strawberries was the first box's evil doppelganger."

Olive blinked. "Then why would Ned not tell me that when I asked?"

"Maybe it wasn't Ned," said Chuck with a gasp. "Maybe it was his evil doppelganger."

Chuck smiled sweetly.

Olive squinted in suspicion.

"_O_kay," Olive said, raising an eyebrow. "No more whiskey cupcakes for you."

They kept dodging Olive, Olive thought, and let it go to that place in the back of her mind where it would jump out if (_when_) confronted with new evidence.

So Olive told Emerson and Ned, and Ned slipped out of the booth like the elusive fishy fish he was, and avoided Olive's gaze when she looked back at him with determination in her eyes.

Emerson scowled and told her to bring him some more pie.

Olive went back into the kitchen, and found dozens of pieces of fruit staring up at her, daring Olive to put off going to the ophthalmologist.

Olive glared at the collective, and kept an eye out for any strange liveliness in it for three hours, four minutes and, oh, who cares, and pushed the case of the rotten strawberries back to the back of her mind, with Chuck's oddities and everyone's tendency to ignore Olive, where it would bounce up and down for attention if and only if it ever happened again.

Olive took pride in her ability to compartmentalize. She knew it was the reason she was still alive, if by alive you meant working with Ned at the Pie Hole, and Olive most certainly kind of did.


End file.
